


When the Leaves Were Green

by aseaofsound



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Misogyny, Out of Character, everyone is a victim bc of the gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseaofsound/pseuds/aseaofsound
Summary: “My father does not like you. He thinks you are not good enough for me, that you’ll ruin my legacy.”I remembered the nightmares, the shades in the water, things that I’ve been plagued with since I met her. To be disliked by a god was man’s worst destiny. “And what did you tell him?”“I told him"—she pauses, considers her words, and I thought I might combust with nervousness—“that you were worth it.”--Corrin, an unchangeable fate, and the boy who dared to come between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i love greek mythology and if i had things my way, the whole plot of fates would just be the iliad and corrin would've known that anankos was their father and all the destruction they cause and see makes them descend into draconic madness. also big inspo for this is the book the song of achilles, which literally killed me, so you all should read it (though this fic will likely focus more on friendship than romance, since i can't write romance lol)
> 
> this is essentially my fates rewrite centering on silas and corrin and the universe is less like canon and more like that of greek mythology. also this is like...my first time writing something where i'm sort of "creating" a new universe so essentially idk what i'm doing lol

  **when the leaves were green**

She comes upon them like a riptide, sweeping Hoshido off its feet, dangling it by the toes. Born to a concubine of King Sumeragi’s and Anankos, she causes scandal to ripple through the country, as messages from the gods are sent down in the form of premonitions and prayers.

“She will be the greatest warrior the world has yet to see,” the Rainbow Sage preached to a small audience consisting of an ailing Mikoto, her king, and two handmaidens. “In spite of everything, including her sex, though it is no wonder that a child of Anankos is destined for greatness. Fate is, after all, a tricky mistress.”

Mikoto had smiled, gazing down at the swaddled babe in her arms, small and ordinary, for she would love this child even if she weren’t smiled upon by fortune. Sumeragi watched Mikoto with patient eyes, saying nothing as the Sage took his leave to neutral Notre Sagesse. A mistress’ infidelity was punishable by death, but the king had always been fond of Mikoto.

Even still, months passed, and with them she grew weaker, her fluting bones now more akin to skinny tree branches in wintertime. Still, Mikoto held her daughter with vigor and care, refusing to let go even through the affliction. She leaned the child against her breast as Sumeragi took one of her feverish hands in his.

“I will raise her as my own,” he declared, gentle and affirmative as he was with his mistresses. Mikoto searched his face, expression unreadable, before her lips split into a smile. Bird-boned fingers stroked the infant’s sparse, pale hair, so light it was almost translucent, away from her forehead until they went slack, and Sumeragi slipped the child from Mikoto’s limp grasp into his own.

This was Anankos’ first living child in centuries, the rest having gone mad with draconic rage because their human bodies were too frail to contain the blood of a god. After a warning from the Fates, Anankos stopped siring children with humans. But it was no wonder to Sumeragi why Anankos had loved Mikoto, for Sumeragi himself was quite enamored with her. Few women possessed her poise or her kindness.

A day passed and Mikoto was dead, her body overwhelmed by disease. The child, who came to be known as Corrin, was an orphan.

* * *

Sumeragi watched Corrin blink into space in her bassinet, helpless and dumb as all infants begin. His own children, Ryoma and Hinoka, were not much older. Here was the greatest warrior of the generation, just a few months old. It would be so easy to get rid of her. To claim that glory for his son, if not for himself. But Sumeragi was not a coward, nor was he one to break promises. And who was he to question Anankos?

So the child lived.

* * *

 The handmaidens and nurses of Shirasagi Castle fawned over the newborn Corrin. They bathed and clothed her, fed and sang to her as they had Sumeragi’s own children, and she was well-cared for and protected in the passing of her mother.

Once six months had passed following Mikoto’s death, the news of Hoshido’s best being borne from Anankos and a mere concubine broke out among Shirasagi’s royal court. While some men rejoiced in fostering the greatest of her generation, most were skeptical. Of her gender, of her lineage, of the Fates. Hoshido had not seen a female warrior in centuries, much less those destined to rise above the rest. Women were conquests. Not soldiers.

Unrest settled among nobles as they enlisted their sons for battle, preparing for the brewing conflict between Hoshido and its neighbor, dark and impenetrable Nohr. The Rainbow Sage of Notre Sagesse had prophesied a war between the two nations, fueled by conflict between the Dark Dragon of the West and the Light Dragon of the East, their worshippers following in their example.

Anankos, caught in the midst of the fighting, decreed an ultimatum—whichever country burned the greater offering would gain his aid in the war. And so Sumeragi and Nohr’s King Garon sought their finest resources. The former, products of the sun, and the latter, weapons forged from the darkest smiths.

Sumeragi stood at the head of the ceremonial pyre, his servants gathering the castle’s finest wines and fruits for burning. Surely Anankos would choose Hoshido, for Corrin’s sake.

But the gods were capricious beings, some prone to whimsy and others to relishing in suffering. They did not abide by human customs nor morality, and Anankos, fueled by King Garon’s timely addition of all but two of his young children to the pyre, ruled in favor of the darkness.

The Hoshidans accepted their defeat, though dissatisfaction ran rampant throughout the country, especially among the nobility.

“We will not sacrifice any of our sons or daughters,” Sumeragi declared at the head of the council, his voice booming through the hall. “We are not savages.”

Saizo, ruler of the Hoshidan province Igasato, stood abruptly from his seat, anger twisting his features. He was not usually prone to outbursts, especially before the king, but the tension over the table strengthened his resolve and only seemed to make him angrier. “What of the diviners? All they bring is unfavorable news. Surely Anankos would have been satisfied with them.” Around the table, a few men hummed in agreement. “We cannot compete with Nohr this way.”

“Saizo.” The man in question glared up at Sumeragi, as fiery as his hair. “You have two sons, do you not?”

“And I would give them up for the sake of Hoshido’s glory,” Saizo spat.

Sumeragi stroked his beard, keeping his expression cool. “We cannot know if Anankos would win us the war, only that he would lend his aid. Nothing is certain.”

“What is certain is that Anankos is powerful. And his aid would have greatly tipped the scales.”

“We have his daughter on our side. The best of her generation. We will not lose,” Sumeragi argued.

“What’s a girl against an army of men?” one samurai called out. “If she is our best, our sons are destined for failure. Sacrifice was the only option.”

Orochi, a violet-haired diviner, spoke up from his place beside Sumeragi. “They know not of what they speak. Your sons will be great, but she will be greater still. There was no need for sacrifice.”

His voice was soft but commanded the attention of the men present. Hoshidans frowned upon divination and its denizens, as they too often brought forth ill will rather than good fortune. Unlike the Rainbow Sage, their messages came not directly from the gods, but from other means, such as tea and entrail readings.

The nobles seated at the table glared at Orochi, but before any of them could argue further, Sumeragi adjourned the meeting and the men dispersed. No children would die for the war cause. Not on his honor.

But Sumeragi’s wife was a jealous woman, scandalized at the prospect of a lowly concubine dishonoring her lord and husband. After kissing her young children goodnight, Ikona stole into Corrin’s chambers, the nurses and handmaids having long been dismissed.

The child slept peacefully, swaddled in warm cloth. In the darkness lit only by the moon and the stars peeking in from the wide window, Ikona swept Corrin up in her arms, careful not to wake her. This bastard, demigod or no, did not deserve the same love and attention from Sumeragi as his real children, the children she bore him. And so the queen gingerly tiptoed to the bathhouse at the other end of the hall.  

Crickets chirped in the still of the night, but Ikona would not be deterred by such tranquility. The maids had left her a pleasantly warm bath at her request, and she stepped into the pool with her bare feet, lowering the child to the water.

Once Corrin’s skin made contact with the bath, Ikona felt the hairs on her nape stand on end, as though someone were watching her. Her heartbeat resounded deep in her ears, and she whipped her head around the bathhouse to find the culprit. With baited breath she waited, but when there was no further disturbance, Ikona swallowed her fear and tried again. When the infant came into contact with the water once more, Ikona spooked as a splash echoed through the room, still clutching the now-roused baby. Corrin began to wail, the sound bouncing off the stone walls, and Ikona recovered her resolve.

But before she could drown the child, a bright violet light flooded her vision. Ikona cried out as her eyes stung, and in her shock she dropped the child into the bath. She let out a sharp gasp and felt her way out of the tub, for she was blinded by the violet shade. Soon enough footsteps pounded somewhere near, and through her addled mind Ikona heard the worried chatter of her handmaids. The last thing she felt before she went unconscious was a strong grip on her arms.

When she woke, the castle had plunged into a panic, and still she could not see. But she knew, always, that one cannot take without giving. Such was the law of the universe, and she’d given her eyesight for the child’s life.

Corrin was gone.

* * *

 A hush settled over the court of Castle Krakenburg, and the various men and women present to witness the trial of a prominent noble family whispered among themselves.

A man and his wife kneeled before the king, and their son bowed with them, small and shrunken. His gray hair fell over his eyes in disarray, and he struggled to conceal his trembling to little avail. Nohr’s rule was not famous for being kind or merciful, and although he was a mere child of seven, Silas had heard of executions and witnessed beatings on the streets of Windmire, where he’d lived a comfortable life as the only child of two nobles.

He kept his forehead close to the ground as his mother had instructed over the harsh beating of the guards’ feet when they stormed the manor. He closed his eyes as shuffling and yelling that sounded a lot like his father erupted through the castle’s high ceilings. Feet stomped all about him, and he clenched his fists until he could feel blood leak from where his nails dug into his palms.

In a low voice, Garon announced that he would spare the boy so that he may be a servant to Nohr’s greatest warrior, for the boy was still of noble lineage. It would be a shame to spill such blood when Nohr was steadily dying out, and the ancient aristocratic houses needed to survive in some form.

The supposed warrior was still considered myth by most of the Nohrian people in spite of the years that have passed since she was sent by Anankos. Nohrians were not religious people after years of discontent and feeling scorned by the gods, but Garon seemed to palce trust in the gods’ ability to aid them, and what little choice did they have? Their military was suffering, and women and children were slowly being groomed and incorporated into the militia, though this also created new problems of corruption within the ranks. War against Hoshido was imminent, and the country lacked the resources and manpower to even stand a chance. Mysticism and the hero of the Fates were the only options left.

Disquiet erupted over the audience, for it was rare that anyone, man, woman, or child, was spared at the hands of the law. Such was the kingdom that Garon inherited from his predecessors, where crime and savagery ruled more than the monarchy, and in an effort to put an end to the seeming plague that swept through Nohr, execution was the only punishment. As a result, respect for the monarchy died, and Silas’ parents had found themselves at the mercy of the law, shackled and sentenced to death by beheading for treason.

What seemed like centuries passed before a knight pulled Silas up from his position on the floor. The man wasn’t ungentle, but he still kept Silas shackled as he led him out of the throne room, where the king spoke in hushed tones to his advisors. Their glares bored into Silas as he passed, but still he hung his head as though his father were still there to reprimand him.

Silas cringed as the cold air hit him once they left the castle, and he looked up to find the knight staring down at him. Wordlessly, the man detached the cape from his armor and draped it over Silas’s shoulders, before cutting through his shackles with a metal crowbar.

“What is your name?” he asked, bending down to Silas’ level.

Silas shivered under the cape and wrung his hands. Was it okay to speak? He looked around, but his parents were nowhere to be found in the darkness to answer him. “Silas,” he whispered, voice raspy from disuse.

The old knight gazed at him, expression unreadable, before his lips twitched upwards. “I am Gunter,” he said. “We will work together from now on.”

They traveled north away from the city, and Silas glanced over his shoulder as the lights of Windmire faded from view. He wanted to ask Gunter where his parents were, if they would come get him, if he could write to them, but kept his mouth shut for fear of punishment. Mother had always kept quiet around men more powerful than she, and instructed Silas to do the same.

* * *

The next morning, he woke to find his parents still gone, and himself, dropped among hundreds of other children in a castle far away from Krakenburg. The days were long while he did nothing but commune with the others, but the nights were longer still. He thought often of his parents—where they were, if they would come for him—but a week, then two, passed and nothing changed. That is, until he was snatched from the roving crowds of children by Gunter, who led him deeper into the castle.

“I trust that you’re more adjusted now,” he said in his low, but not unkind, voice. “Training begins tomorrow. In the mornings you will dine with the other children, and later I will escort you to the upper tower, where you will work with Princess Corrin and Prince Xander in swordsmanship. During dinnertime, you will return to your barracks and share your meals with the other children. Understand?”

“Yes,” Silas replied, his voice barely a whisper, for which the other children badgered him about. But Gunter simply nodded.

Silas stared at his feet as they trudged through the stone hallways of the castle. Gunter hadn’t asked for his cape back, and now Silas clutched it in his fingers, unsure if he should return it. The old knight had not showed him any callousness, not like the guards who stole him and his parents form their manor in Windmire and took them to the king’s throne room, but still he could not shake his fear of speaking out of turn.

They climbed a spiral staircase, passing by high arched windows through which Silas could see Nohr’s natural defense against outsiders, the Onyx Mountains, said to have risen from the Dark Dragon’s scales. But what caught his eye were the glades and fields surrounding the fortress. Greenery was rare in Windmire, and so Silas found himself transfixed by the tall green grasses and the few and far between wildflowers, small and numerous as bugs from so high up.

Gunter then led him through a long corridor with a lone passageway at the end, framed by a high arch and tapestries crudely depicting Anankos in various forms, as though they were painted by a child.

“Wait here,” Gunter commanded as he slipped through the threshold and disappeared behind the curtains.

Silas stayed put and fiddled with his hands, the clothes on his back itchy and unfamiliar. He could hear laughter drift from the fields outside, the children having been summoned for swordsmanship. His father used to wield a sword like no one else, and had even gifted Silas with one of his own, though it was a stick meant for the hands of children and nothing like the commanding silver of his father’s. But of course it was gone now, as all his family’s belongings were, and all Silas had left was his family crest.

He turned at the sound of a voice, light and airy and excitable. The tapestry flipped open to reveal Gunter, and then a young girl of an age with Silas ducked under the tapestry soon after.

“Milady, this is Silas. He has come to serve under you,” Gunter said patiently, gesturing towards the boy.

Silas couldn’t help but gawk at her red eyes and silver hair, the likes of which he’d never seen before in dark and gloomy Nohr, where the people had started to blend together with the background. Even her face seemed distinctly out of place among the sharp noses and jutting chins, with eyes sharp and angled and a soft, round face.

She smiled toothily and curtsied with all the grace of a sprightly little girl. “I’m Corrin! Let’s be friends, okay?” she said, and Silas jumped when she suddenly grasped his hands and squeezed. He could only stare back at her in shock, until Gunter quirked his eyebrow at him, and Silas remembered that Corrin was a princess. Princesses didn’t hold hands with nobles or servants like him.

But she didn’t let go when he tried to pull away, and Silas was left to keep his sweaty palms in hers. Her fingers brushed across the crescent shaped cuts in his palms, and she frowned. Before she could say anything, he awkwardly kneeled at her feet, still resting his hands in hers, but when he glanced up at Gunter for more direction, all he saw was Corrin’s face, his wonder reflected back at him in her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of doing something productive like be an academic I wrote another chapter of this fic lol yikes  
> also did i mention how OOC corrin is supposed to be? canon corrin is too well liked by everyone, and if she grew up with such a specific destiny, then i figure she would act more childish or argumentative or entitled. but as far as i am in the story, she is still a child and has yet to grow or experience real hardship yet.  
> another thing wow i literally forgot yukimura existed and that he couldve had some input in the first chapter oops

I squinted in the broad daylight. The sound of wooden swords clashing filled the air with dull thumps, and I felt useless and powerless sitting on the ground.

Corrin’s armor swallowed her small form, and I’d have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that my identical armor swallowed me whole, too. But she had, when I came out of the armory, the metal plates hanging off of me crookedly. Her laughter was loud and unabashed in ways I never expected a princess’ to be.

“You’re catching up,” Prince Xander said to her, and though his face was shiny and red with exhaustion, he appeared calm and rested. They’d been at it for hours, now, and I feared that I wouldn’t return to the barracks in time for dinner. “But you still have a ways to go, little princess.”

I startled when she pouted and threw the wooden sword on the ground, and it made a clattering noise when it came into contact with the roots of a nearby tree. Xander frowned. Was Princess Camilla like this, too? Was Princess Elise? “Why can’t I use a real sword yet? This is for babies!”

“We’ll move on with your training when I deem you ready,” he said gently, but sternly. Then his gaze flickered to me, and I shrunk under the weight of it. “Silas. It is your turn now. Come.”

Wordlessly, I took Corrin’s place as she huffed and sat on my perch at the foot of a tree. The sword was heavy in my hand, but lighter than my old sword had been, and I felt the absence of everything I’d ever known.

Xander nodded at me, and I ran to him defensively, as I once had with my father during practice. He met my blow with the precision and power of someone several years my senior, and I grunted as my back hit the ground. I was out of practice, for in the weeks leading up to my parents’ indictment Father had little time to clash swords with me. And now I knew that Father had been too gentle when we sparred.

“You will have to do much better than that to stay within these ranks,” Xander said, shaking his head. I cringed and flushed, wanting nothing more than to shrink. I averted my gaze, though I found no solace in Corrin’s sharp red eyes that seemed to follow my every movement.

“Yes, sir.”

“What was that?” he demanded, even though I knew he heard me.

I cleared my throat and looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir,” I said more clearly, and the crease between his eyebrows eased. I thought he might’ve smiled, too.

“Again,” he said in a voice that reminded me of my old tutors, or Gunter, even. He jogged backwards until we were several feet apart.

And we repeated until the sun disappeared behind the Onyx Mountains.

* * *

 

I returned to my barracks escorted by Gunter. He had never asked for his cape back, and so I kept it on my bed cushion for when the nights were especially cold. In my exhaustion I contemplated forgoing dinner for a chance at a longer night’s sleep, but eventually my hunger won out.

The dinner bell sounded as soon as I left the baths, and a swarm of children surrounded me on their way to the dining hall. Silently, I followed them, my footsteps loud in my ears even though everyone else’s voices distorted the air.

Once I’d gotten my fair share of dinner, which consisted of a tiny portion that was more fit for babies than growing children, I settled down in a quiet corner of the room, content to eat my meals in peace. I hoped the others would grow tired of nagging me, but it seemed the novelty of my arrival was still fresh in their minds, and a gaggle of boys gathered at my table, grinning mischievously.

One of them leaned forward on his elbow and narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, how come you get to train with Prince Xander and we don’t?” Hums of assent erupted among the others, and I looked down at my sad meal. But he was persistent, and he shoved my tray so that it nearly toppled into my lap. “I’m talking to you, you know.”

I shrugged, hoping their eyes would leave me be. “I don’t know,” I replied dumbly, even though I did.

“It’s ‘cause he’s noble,” another one said. He had light hair, so blond it was basically white, and dark skin. An urchin, most likely, like the ones I saw in the corners of street markets, the ones my mother would push me to get away from. The younger ones tended to beg for scraps, while the older ones were bolder, and occasionally attacked nobles and robbed them. His eyes bored into me lazily, and I scratched my arm nervously.

“How d’you know?” the first boy demanded.

The urchin shrugged and gestured at me. “He just is.”

“So, are you?”

I blinked. I wasn’t, not anymore. “I used to be.”

They seemed to tire of me then, their attention enraptured by a game of predator outside the hall. The urchin boy, however, remained in his seat across from me.

“What was it like?” he asked after a bout of silence.

I crushed a pea with my fork, then another, until all of them were mush. “My father yelled a lot.”

“I never had a father,” he hummed, and when I looked down, his plate was empty even though I barely touched mine. “I’m Niles.”

“I’m—”

“Silas,” he finished for me. “The princess’s protector.”

I huffed at the title. “I don’t know why she needs one. She’s almost as good as Prince Xander already, and he’s fifteen.” I frowned, thinking of how I could barely get him to budge when he’d already sparred with Corrin. “I felt like a bug sparring with him.”

Niles snorted, but said nothing more, and before long the bedtime alarm went off and we all scurried back to our quarters.

I turned under the thin blanket and Gunter’s cape, and I shivered until sleep came and took me.

* * *

 

When dawn came, I went about my business as usual. In the mess hall I could spot Niles and the group of boys from the other day, but none of them accompanied me at my table. Other than them, everyone else tended to steer clear of me as though they could smell that I wasn’t like the rest, that I never was or would be, and I began to hate them.

Gunter came and we headed to sword practice. When we got there, the courtyard was empty except for the guards that stood at every entrance. Gunter commanded me to wait until Corrin and Xander arrived, and I watched as he retreated, his shiny black armor gleaming.

The guards glared at me in distrust. I wished I could seep into the soil like rain, or fight my way out of this castle, but I could do nothing but sit and wait and dig holes in the ground.

By the time Corrin and Xander arrived, I had already dug through an inch of the dirt surrounding me. Corrin skipped over to me, unarmed, her silver hair pulled back away from her face. She looked remarkably normal, like any other child might, even if her hair and her eyes were otherworldly.

“Hi Silas!” she said cheerfully, dropping down next to me. Her proximity made me awkward, and so I shuffled away from her.

“My lady,” I replied, nodding in deference. She looked at me oddly and I saw her finger move close to my face.

But before she could say anything else, Xander had us arm ourselves, and the day proceeded just like the previous, and then the weeks after that. Corrin would greet me, and I’d greet her back, then we would each spar with Xander until the sun went down.

* * *

 The week after I turned eight, an envoy from Krakenburg came to the fortress with news from Hoshido. We children were mostly kept in the dark when it came to pressing matters, and our commanders would only tell us what the king’s council wanted us to hear. It made us hate Hoshido, hate them for all the things we would never have. The sun, plentiful crops, food on our tables and in our stomachs, and after four months of this life, my hatred for Hoshido only grew stronger.

From my perch on a tree root, I could see the envoy relaying his message to Xander out of earshot of Corrin and me. I could barely see his face, but I watched as Xander nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, a nervous tick that he usually attempted to hide.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Corrin asked me she swung her sword at the bark of a tree. Wood chips flew all about her in a flurry, and it took me a minute to respond.

“I heard it has to do with Hoshido.”

She stopped, and we both turned toward Xander, who still had his arms crossed as the envoy prattled on. I looked up to find her staring at me, and I flushed and averted my eyes.

“Obviously,” she replied, and my face grew even hotter. “But what _of_ Hoshido?”

“I don’t know.” I wanted to say, _why don’t you ask your father?_ but thought better of petulance around her. I was only a mortal, and I knew nothing of gods or demigods. They had been absent from Nohr for decades, anyway, though I had to wonder if she regularly prayed to Anankos, if he ever listened.

It was silent for a while as we waited for Xander to finish. At one point she began hitting me lightly with her sword, making sound effects as she went. _Pow!_ for my arm, _urgh!_ for my back, and a wet squelching noise for the back of my neck. When I still lived in Windmire I had seen my fair share of blood, but I was beginning to forget what that was like. I wondered if Corrin knew, but I doubted it. She rarely left the fortress to begin with, not to mention that she was heavily guarded.

The prince finally returned to us and Corrin, figuring it would be another day, readied her spot. But Xander shook his head and beckoned for us to come closer.

“From here on out, we will train differently,” he said, and though he was only sixteen years old, he sounded much older. “You will spar each other.”

“But—” Corrin protested, and I wanted to mirror her if it weren’t for the fact that I feared and respected Xander too much for that. All three of us knew I was no match for her.

“You will not fight me on this, little princess.” He narrowed his eyes at her, but Corrin only leveled his glare with her own, equal in intensity.

I shivered under the weight of his words and his gaze, and nodded. Corrin was much faster than I was, and many times more skilled. I had watched her train for the better part of four months, but I still felt utterly powerless next to her and Xander, who only got better and harsher with his blows. In the end she relented, and when her glare turned to me, I did my best not to shrink under it.

Xander stepped away, and before I knew it Corrin was coming at me. I quickly lifted my sword as hers came down close to my face, and I caught it just in time to not get cut. She was fast and unpredictable, and I found myself incurring cuts and scrapes along my arms and legs, though I was shocked at how many of her lunges I deflected, and had even gotten a hit before she turned the tables on me once again.

By the time Xander made us stop, we were covered in sweat and dirt. Corrin panted across from me, leaning on the hilt of her sword, which she’d dug into the ground. I attempted to catch my breath as I sat on the dirt, leaning back and allowing the cool air that swept over the Onyx Mountains to calm me down.

“Why,” Corrin breathed, and I glanced up at her indignant tone. “Why can’t I practice with the others?”

“Because you are not like the others, Corrin,” Xander said, and I turned my face toward the sky, not wanting to intrude, even if my ears wouldn’t let me. “We have been over this. And I know Father feels the same.”

“But Silas is like the others!” she cried.

“He is your sworn protector—”

“Protector!” She threw the word at his face, but I was the one who felt hit. “He cannot even land a blow. How will he protect me?”

“It does not matter. He has trained with you all this time. And you are still a princess of Nohr, and you will act and be educated as one.”

He turned his back on her, and I rose to follow, but when Corrin didn’t, I hesitated. I looked back at her, but her sights were fixed on Xander, not me.

“I don’t want to read the tomes, I don’t want to learn about strategy, I want to _fight_ !” she cried, so frustrated that tears began to stream down her dirty face. She appeared no differently from the other boys after their sword practice—dirtied, disheveled, smelly even. Princesses were not known to be warriors, however. “My father—my _real_ father—said I was born to fight.”

“I’ll hear no more of this, Corrin. Both of you, come. The day is done and I have tired of your whining.”

At the finality of his voice, Corrin hiccuped and hung her head. I felt sorry for her, and as we walked through the fortress, I tore a piece of cloth from my tunic and offered it to her, even though the rest of us were only given a limited amount of clothing. She took it gingerly and blew her nose.

When we arrived at her quarters, Xander stopped. “Look,” he said. “If it means that much to you, I will take it up with Father. But I cannot guarantee he will agree. Understood?” She nodded and sniffed, and I watched Xander’s face soften. “No more crying now. Go.”

“Yes, Brother.” Before she disappeared behind the tapestry, she turned to me, and it was like she was seeing me for the first time, and I her. “Thank you, Silas.”

I blinked dumbly.

“Of course, my lady.”

* * *

That evening, I walked to my dinner table in silence, though I found that it was not empty as it usually was. Instead, Niles sat across from my usual spot, digging into his meal with vigor. I had never particularly liked peas, so I poured mine onto his plate once I reached him. He grunted in appreciation.

“Hello. Been a while,” I said as I sat down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and I nearly gawked at the scars all over his skin.

“Been busy,” he said simply.

“I see.” I said nothing more after that, and proceeded to shovel food into my mouth. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary here, where the boys only grew older and fought and prepared for a war we would all have to fight in.

“Did you hear?” Niles asked.

“Hear what?”

He grinned, and suddenly I was no longer hungry. There was something dangerous about his smile, something I couldn’t quite place. “You think they’ll send us to war soon? We’re still kids, but you never know.”

I blanched, feeling all color leave my face. Was that what the envoy told Xander? “I—what?” I said very eloquently.

“They’re angry. Angrier than they’ve ever been,” he explained, though I could not tell who “they” were. “The Hoshidans. They’ve always been angry, ever since Corrin went ‘poof.’ But now they know she’s here, and they want her back.”

“Didn’t Anankos send her?”

Niles shrugged. “If that’s what you think.”

“What else do you know?”

His smile disappeared then, but I didn’t feel any less uneasy.  “Nothing.”

* * *

When Gunter came to fetch me the next morning, I could not hold myself back from questioning him.

“Will we go to war soon?”

Gunter sighed and shook his head. “If it comes to that, you will know as soon as possible.”

“Are they going to take the princess away?” I asked. I was persistent and fearful, and I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

“No,” Gunter said with finality. I had never heard him speak that way before, like he was angry. But I had only ever been around him with Corrin or Xander. “They will not. We won’t allow them to.”

It was quiet, and although I was afraid to speak, another question slipped through. “Will I have to fight?”

Gunter stopped, and I was afraid that he would be angry with me. But he wasn’t when he bent down to my level, and I was reminded of how little time had passed since I came here, how much I’ve changed.

“If I can help it, you won’t. Understand, Silas?” He waited, and so I nodded. “I am here to protect you until you are old enough to protect yourself.”

“And the princess?”

“And the princess.” He smiled and pat my head, in a way my father never did when he was still here. “Now go, your princess awaits you.”


	3. Chapter 3

After the news came from Hoshido, the entirety of the fortress seemed to be on edge. Perhaps they had always been that way, but in my complacency I never took note until the threat of battle became real.

Nonetheless Xander and Gunter acted as usual, and the war easily fell from my mind even if Corrin had a renewed sense of vigor, which meant more bruises for me. I could feel myself improving by the minute, but Corrin and Xander only grew multitudes more than I, and my feelings of inadequacy only multiplied as time passed us by.

As I ate breakfast with the other boys I watched them play predator, their laughter and shouts filling the atrium. Somewhere in my chest I felt a sharp sting when I remembered my mother, her gentle, plain face scrunching when she smiled. Smiles were rare in my house and even rarer for me, and I envied those boys for their vigor. I rubbed my eyes hard, hoping no one could tell that laughter and smiles upset me, or worse, that I _cried_ , and feigned exhaustion in order to appear less soft, less human.

Across from me, Niles followed my line of sight, but said nothing as he continued to scrape food from my plate onto his own, chewing long and hard as though it were his last meal. Behind him, a young boy of five or four stumbled, dropping his meager portion onto the ground, and before I knew it I was down on the ground with him, picking up the scraps with my bare hands. Once I’d dropped them, he shoved them into his mouth. I feared he would choke, but before I could check on him, he dashed off, never acknowledging that I was even there.

“Why are you so weird?” Niles asked when I returned.

I blushed, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re from Windmire,” he said, as though I was supposed to know what that meant. “People don’t help people in Windmire.”

“Maybe they should start.”

He scrunched his face at me in confusion, and the rest of supper continued in silence.

* * *

 Gunter came to fetch me, his face unreadable as usual. I could feel eyes on my back as we made our way through the halls. I dared not look back, if only to avoid the leering stares of the others, envious of my “special treatment,” though I never considered myself to be special in any way. I was okay at swordsmanship, and although I could read and write, neither Gunter nor Xander called upon me to do either of those things. The only things that made me different from them were my upbringing, and the fact that the king chose me to protect the princess, and neither of those things were about or because of anything I’d done.

Our walk to Corrin’s quarters was made in silence, and I watched through the high, barred windows as the boys readied for training, their ranks shifty and irregular. They shoved each other, giggling, carefree in a way I never could be. Among the hundreds of heads, I could see Niles toward the rear, his lanky self dwarfed by the older, stockier boys.

When we arrived, Corrin threw her arms around Gunter’s middle, and I stood aside quietly as he ruffled her hair and pushed her away. She chatted animatedly about everything and nothing, but Gunter’s back was stiff and his smile seemed to be hanging on threads. When he left us alone in the courtyard, I wanted to call out to him, but he looked so deep in thought that I couldn’t bring myself to. I remembered Hoshido, then, and in a fit of nervousness I fiddled with my tunic.

“Milady, can I ask you a question?”

She wrinkled her nose. My whole body tensed up at the prospect of her annoyance, for I knew her for her fiery temper, if nothing else. “Can you call me Corrin?”

I shuffled my feet uncomfortably. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” She nodded. “What is it?”

I paused and chewed on my lip, trying to grasp how to approach my concerns. “Do you ever talk to your father?”

She didn’t seem to think my question weird, and shrugged nonchalantly. “Gunter takes me to the deep-running river once a month so that I can call upon him. But it is rare that he hears me.” She threw her head back and gazed at the sky, and I wondered what she saw.

Father had never believed in the gods, and while I sometimes caught my mother with her whole form bowed in deference, leaning over her folded hands, she never spoke of the gods to me, nor to anyone. I knew they were real, but knowing and believing are different. Besides, they were self-serving and didn’t seem to care for Nohr, and Mother had been gone for so long that the gods would not give her back. I knew that much now, and it shamed me how long it took to realize she was never coming back. “What makes you say that?”

With a finger lifted to the space in front of her, Corrin traced patterns that only she could see. “When the water does not rise up to meet me, I know he is not listening.”

I did not know how to react. Should I comfort her? _Could_ I comfort her? I doubted it. But it seemed to me that fathers were much the same, distant and cold; even if my father kept me  under his nose, taught me how to read large tomes and wield a sword, I’m not sure he ever truly saw me.

“Did you have a father?” she asked. The king must keep her in the dark; surely everyone, regardless of class, gender, or age, knew what became of my parents, and most of the boys here were orphans or the young sons of poor anarchists, spared only because they would not remember their fathers. Nevertheless, it became increasingly known to me that Corrin was told nothing, not of the rumors of her hailing from Hoshido nor of my parents’ fate.

“Yes, but he’s gone now.”

“Did he die?”

I nodded, even if death was something I had yet to grasp. “Yes. My mother, too.”

“Mother?” Corrin repeated. “I never had a mother.”

“Then where did you come from?”

A frown marred Corrin’s otherwise serene face, and I instantly felt the punch of guilt and fear. I had to remember my place here, for it was deadly to forget. “From the water,” she said, though her voice was unsure. Niles’s voice echoed in my head, the rumors from Hoshido; Nohr is a country of secrets, and I did not know what to believe.

Mortality, distant fathers—it was difficult, still, to think of Corrin as similar to me, ignorant and human and orphaned. When I thought of her like that, I grew more comfortable, less formal around her, and I began to forget what I was afraid of in the first place.

* * *

 

 _From the water_.

What did she mean, from the water? The crickets chirped outside the tiny bunker I shared with three other boys, but they provided no answers. I puzzled over this until I fell unconscious, though I woke even before the sun, the others snoring peacefully in the dead of night.

We were not permitted to leave our bunkers, but I had grown parched while asleep. When I poked my head out the door, the corridor was empty save for one guard who was infamous for sleeping during the night watch. In the dim torchlight of the hallway, I made my way to the communal baths, intent on getting a small drink of water.

With a squeak the tap came to life, and I cupped my palms beneath it. I drank from the small puddle within my fingers hungrily, as if on the verge of death, but when I glanced up into the small, cracked mirror above the tap, I saw a stone-like visage, neither male nor female, but frightening and powerful all the same. Its eyes remained closed, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention; my mind told me to run, but my body refused to move, as if my body didn’t exist and I was a mere spirit for the gods to do away with.

And maybe I was, for as I ran back to my quarters, my heart practically leaping out of my chest, I heard a voice.

 _I am the forgotten god_.

How could I forget my mother in repose? Her knees bent and her torso folded over her legs? She had never forgotten. Was it Anankos who spoke to me? Was he angry? I could not tell. I wished I could run to Corrin’s room, but the guards stationed there already disliked me. All I wanted were answers, but all I received was an eerie voice in my mind, telling me of dragons long past and my own impending doom.

I did not sleep that night, as I relayed the voice in my head. I went through my daily routine in a stupor, and even though I felt Niles’ gaze on me, I couldn’t help but fall prey to my own mind.

“Silas.”

Xander’s voice tore me from my thoughts, and I stood at attention, fearful of punishment. For the life of me I couldn’t remember getting to the field, nor meeting with Gunter or Xander and Corrin. The prince frowned at me in concern, and I instantly tensed under his gaze.

“What is troubling you?” he asked, his brow furrowed. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Corrin drummed her fingers against the hilt of her sword, looking at me expectantly. Her eyes bored into my own, and I suddenly feared that she could read my thoughts. I suddenly feared _her_ , and I glanced away toward the dirt crusted on my boots.

“Nothing, sir,” I mumbled. Not even the lowest of animals would believe me, not with the way I spoke with a complete lack of conviction or confidence.

“Go to the infirmary. Blood has not risen to your face yet, and it is almost the middle of the day.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but eventually thought better of it. Corrin frowned as a guard took me by the scruff of my neck, yet Xander pulled her gaze from me and the sound of swords clashing filled the air.

I was shoved into a small room with many windows; natural light flooded in and coated the room in a soft yellow hue. A woman and two girls were working at a desk filled with glass bottles containing warm amber liquids, their backs to me.

“The dragon’s guard needs fixing,” one of the guards said, pushing me onto the floor before retreating. Several guards were stationed outside of the infirmary, but they paid me no heed as I landed on my knees. One of the girls, skinny and bird-boned, lifted me with surprising strength, her long ponytail swishing behind her.

“What is it that ails you?” she asked, sounding professional, if not rather tremulous. She seemed to be of an age with me, though the blonde beside her was much younger.

I gaped, not trusting myself with words, nor did I have to strength to speak when my body was so fatigued. 

“Lie down; you musn’t exert yourself.”

“Yes!” the little girl exclaimed, clutching a large, ancient-looking tome to her chest. Her garb was fancy and looked expensive, and when she turned I spotted the Nohrian crest at the collar of her shirt. This must be Princess Elise, her locks as golden and shiny as Xander’s, and her presence would explain the amount of knights standing at the threshold. She couldn’t have been more than four years old, but she looked on with interest as the older woman and the other girl leaned over a table, the soft clinking of glass bottles filling the room. I would have fallen asleep if not for a loud shatter and a cry piercing the silence, but they went quiet afterwards, as the old woman soothed the young nurse-in-training.

Later, after the medic examined me, the bird-boned girl said, albeit shakily, “We’ll get Sir Gunter to escort you back to your quarters so you can r-rest.”

“Thank you…”

“F-Felicia!” she said, smiling and bowing reverently for reasons I couldn't fathom. I did not have the skills to help others, nor was I very useful in what the king wanted me to be. But I said nothing of this.

I nodded, my head cloudy and swimming with voices. Wearily, I watched Felicia nod along to whatever the princess babbled about, her little hands waving in the air. By the time Gunter arrived, I was already unconscious, and I vaguely felt him lift me with a care I’d never known.

But the nightmares only continued.


End file.
